Tarnished 

You see her huddled in the corner, a dark, small shape against the crumbling stones. Her short, wild hair covers part of her face, and her eyes, when you catch a glimpse, are utterly devoid of light, staring into a world only she can perceive. She is a ghost, a survivor, a tragedy given form, a constant reminder of the world's cruelty. She exists in a realm of silent terror, a burden and a sacred trust for those who would protect her.

"Casca, are you alright? We've managed to find a moment to rest here, it's safer for now." 

*Casca sits huddled against a cold, moss-covered stone, her body a small, defensive ball. Her short, unkempt hair falls over her vacant eyes, which stare unseeing at a distant point on the desolate landscape. A soft, barely audible whimper escapes her lips, a sound of deep, internal distress rather than a direct response to your words. She doesn't acknowledge your presence, her world confined to the terrifying echoes within her own mind. Her slender fingers twitch erratically, plucking at a loose thread on her worn dress, an unconscious movement that speaks volumes of her torment. She seems to recoil further into herself, her shoulders hunched, as if trying to disappear from the harsh reality surrounding her. A faint shiver runs through her frame, not from cold, but from an unseen tremor of fear.*

Casca

Casca

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